


loud and clear, no need for reverb

by allhaunting



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Dom/Sub Implications, M/M, Rough Sex, Smoking, i’m too much of a puritan to type out all the other shit that happens, this is just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allhaunting/pseuds/allhaunting
Summary: “Did that hurt?”It’s easily the last question Ghoul expected to hear. His stomach falls to his feet nonetheless.Party’s not outright teasing him, not yet. But it’s there, a live wire in his voice, even though right now it’s just a question waiting for an answer.“Yeah, it fucking hurt. You asshole.” Ghoul lets himself sound petulant because it’s what he feels.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52





	loud and clear, no need for reverb

**Author's Note:**

> hi clowns :•) 
> 
> so uhhhh. yeah. hi. 
> 
> for as long as i’ve been writing, this is the first time i’ve ever made something this explicit and sexual. how did we get here? how did it come to this? (i know the answer it’s fine this is redundant) 
> 
> kcu gc knows what’s up, but if you’re not here reading this from that...well then hi, welcome to the thunderdome. 
> 
> as always, katy you are my #1. i love and adore you. thank you for making me the best crazy person i can be <3
> 
> a special lil shoutout to liz and the cule for also encouraging my Behavior, i love y’all for letting me be sick and twisted on your timelines all day long
> 
> title is from can i by kehlani.

  
The fucked up part is Ghoul heard him come in. Held his breath for what felt like hours the way his chest started aching, but what was likely only a minute of awkward, tense silence. Party shuffled through the open walkway, not even worrying about closing the flimsy excuse for a door behind him all the way, loud enough to definitely wake Ghoul up if he had been sleeping. 

He hadn’t.

When the ‘Am stopped rumbling outside the diner, he knew this was the first place Party would stop. It’s been at least six hours since he took off with the damn thing and drove out to god knows where. It was something he did—not often, but enough for it to worry Ghoul every time he did it, just gone without a warning or a word—but he always came back when the dark crept too far in and started to eat the world whole.

The keys jostle, sharp sound of metal hitting metal crackling throughout the otherwise quiet room. Nervous habit. Probably wasn’t even thinking about it, or maybe he already knows Ghoul’s wide awake even with his back turned and face completely hidden. Just knows him well enough to memorize the pattern of his breathing and the way his back rises and falls. If Ghoul thinks about it for too long, he’ll convince himself that Party takes the time to catalog those things the same way he does for Party...that curious eyes steal moments like this, make note of how deep he breathes and what side of the mattress feels most like home to him even when he gets to have it all to himself.

Ghoul doesn’t predict what happens next—instead, he finds the wind knocked out of him when Party goes from being on one side of the room to the other in a matter of three quick steps, moving his body until he’s able to turn Ghoul onto his back while Party straddles him between his thighs, sitting across the other man’s middle.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ghoul hisses, throwing a useless hand up towards Party’s chest—he may not have been asleep that doesn’t mean he was awake enough to deal with whatever the hell this is.

There’s no verbal response, but rather Ghoul gets some kind of answer as Party presses more of his weight down. It’s enough to press even more air out of him and make him feel like a deflated balloon.

“Can you—ow—not do that? What, are you drunk or something?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, really, but the words hit the air with an unintentional venom and THAT—

“Is that what you think of me? Seriously, Ghoul?” Suddenly they’re face to face, a pissed off mouth breathing hot air against Ghoul’s cheek. Fuck, he feels trapped. His body’s natural reaction goes to mild panic and he works up the energy to flail, legs kicking at the blanket around his feet and arms shoving at shoulders.

“Dude, get OFF me, I’m not in the mood for whatever this is—“ he shuffles hard enough to jar Party from his perch, but it only stands to make things worse; there’s a snarl and then a quick sort of movement in the dark that Ghoul can’t follow, but all he knows is that now he’s on his stomach with a knee at the small of his back and a hand in his hair that’s _pulling_ —

“FUCKFUCKFUCK, Party STOP IT, are you out of your fucking mi-“ a sharp yank stops him from saying anything else, replacing his words with a wounded cry from the back of his throat. The knee on his back presses down even harder when Party leans in, lips right at his ear.

“Don’t you dare move. Not an _inch_.”

He doesn’t mean to but Ghoul whimpers, pain buzzing and making him light headed.

“You’re going to sit completely still and you’re going to listen very clearly. Do you understand me?” It’s not really a question, even when it’s posed as one—it’s an order. Ghoul nods into the mattress with vigor, trying to ignore the burn at his scalp.

“I’m not _drunk_. Don’t you dare assume you know anything about me outside of what I let you know.” Ghoul could fucking cry, the pressure of Party’s knee digging even further into his spine until it’s almost unbearable. “And it has never, EVER, been your business. Where I go, what I do. If I’m not telling you about it then it’s not your goddamn place. Tell me you understand that. Out loud.”

“Yes, Jesus fucking christ, yes, okay?” Ghoul’s voice comes out thick, almost choking on the threat of tears. It’s enough for Party to let up a bit of weight, just enough the he feels like he can breathe again without cracking a rib. the relief is so good it makes him sputter, pulling in breath after breath like he could lose them all again in a matter of moments. Realistically, he could.

He may have let up, but clearly Party isn’t done with him—once Ghoul has caught his breath, he’s being flipped on his back which is almost a relief for his poor abused spine. This time, the man above him sits himself lower until their hips meet and plants down just like that. There’s heat everywhere. It’s in the air. It’s molasses in Ghoul’s mouth.

“Did that hurt?”

It’s easily the last question Ghoul expected to hear. His stomach falls to his feet nonetheless.

Party’s not outright teasing him, not yet. But it’s there, a live wire in his voice, even though right now it’s just a question waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, it fucking hurt. You asshole.” Ghoul lets himself sound petulant because it’s what he feels. Confusing as this whole thing is, his whole family is made up of wild animals—you can never predict their behavior, and if you try? You might just end up getting bit.

Party doesn’t say anything yet, just hums something like an affirmation. Shifts his hips.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on? ‘Cause I’m a little lost on how I got you so pissed off man.”

“Don’t really feel like talking right now Ghoulie.”

“I kind of don’t care. You just busted my ass over nothing. You’re not acting like yourself either. I want to know what the hell I did so that it never happens again.”

“Seriously. Don’t push it. I’m warning you.”

“Oh NOW you’re warning me? Fuck you Party, you came into MY room and held me down like I was a fucking ‘CROW and I’m a little more than irritated about it so if you don’t—“

The world narrows down then. Party grabs a handful of Ghoul’s hair and mashes their mouths together with absolutely zero grace or finesse, just a clashing of teeth and tongues that reverberates through his skull. It fucking _hurts_. Everything is the room is spinning in a tight circle that leads back to the man above him, pinning him to the bed. He tastes like the shitty cigarettes that Pony rolls in his spare time...must have bummed one from Dr. D on his trip.

There’s a sharp sting at Ghoul’s bottom lip, and everything goes coppery between them.

“Fuck.” Party pulls back and watches him with wild eyes. Catches sight of the blood building up at the cut and traveling down Ghoul’s chin. In a single move, he ducks down and uses his tongue to catch it, tracing the trail back up until the other man is moaning beneath him.

“What the hell is happening right now...” Ghoul’s not even sure who he’s asking.

Instead of responding, Party brings a hand up to Ghoul’s mouth, teasing his thumb between his mouth and chin and letting his fingers push Ghoul’s jaw up firmly, pressing in enough to hold.

“Will you let me?” It’s innocuous enough if you were to take away the context—if they weren’t lined up so perfectly that every time Party shifts Ghoul didn’t feel it like an itch in his teeth, he could give a better answer. A more well-informed answer that didn’t end in something unchangeable. Clearly there’s no going back now. It’s also far too open ended for Ghoul’s liking...the way his evening has gone down so far, specifics are necessary to make sure he doesn’t end up with broken bones.

There’s too much heat and haze clouding his brain to make a good judgement call.

“Yeah. Yeah, baby, anything you want.”

Party is all over him then, floodgates opened.

There’s a hand snaking up under the ratty shirt he wears to bed, ghosting old ink on its way towards his chest, thumb teasing a nipple until he’s gasping out loud and letting Party shush him. His head is swimming again when that same mouth from before finds his and dives back in, clearly making sure he memorizes the taste of them together.

Ghoul’s been hard since he first felt rough fingers gather at his scalp. Everything happening now just helps him along.

By the feel of it, Party’s in the same boat.

It ain’t easy, but Ghoul’s able to pull himself back enough to talk again, teasing Party’s lip between his teeth before letting go moments after rearing his head back. “What are you gonna do to me honey?” Party groans at the pet name, dipping down until his forehead touches Ghoul’s and keeps him there.

“Really bad shit. Got a list going. It’s itemized.”

Ghoul hums. “Yeah? You gonna hurt me like you did earlier?”

Party pulls himself away just enough look at him a little more seriously. “You...do you want me to?” It’s breathy. Hot. Humid as fuck. Ghoul can’t do much other than nod and bring him back down to nuzzle against his neck.

“Please? Would you?” His teeth graze the shell of Party’s ear. “I like it when you drive. Like it when you’re in control. I know I’ll be okay if you’re at the wheel...”

The sound that rips its way out of Party almost sounds painful. An animal noise in his mouth, his throat. It’s permission and a promise all wrapped into one. 

“Tell me no. If I go too far, tell me—“

“Christ almighty, you had my spine ready to snap less than five minutes ago, now you’re getting all gun shy about slapping me around?” Ghoul snaps his hips up and grinds mercilessly to prove his point. He wants this. There’s a lot happening here and he doesn’t feel like doing a deep dive on how fucked up the mentality of doing this with his best friend but he’d be a dirty liar if he tried to say this wasn’t everything he could possibly want and more. He likes Party—‘like’ doesn’t actually cover it but again, too much going on—and the concept of reciprocation is throwing him for a loop. Being wanted back is a foreign concept. There’s not much to him, not much he can offer anyone out here, his head never got screwed back on right after BLI got a hold of him. Not sure if he’s built for the quick-fuck culture of the zones but not sure he could ever be loved enough to be kept, so for the most part he’s kept his dick in his pants to stop what would only be a train wreck.

Party could have anyone he wants. They can’t step foot in a runner saloon without five or six people approaching to proposition him for a rendezvous in the bathrooms. Sex is handed to him on a silver plater almost daily—the thing is, Ghoul’s never seen him take anyone up on it. There always seems to be an excuse, a reason to get away or say no, before he ducks out from the crowd.

Fuck, he moans like a whore too.

Is this what it feels like to be lucky?

“That was different,” Party grunts, rolling down to press their clothed cocks together and ohhhhhh holy shit—

He talks off the tail-end of a punched out breath. “Yeah? How is that? ‘Cause from what I could tell, you were getting your rocks off on watching me fuckin’ squirm and cry.”

“You were getting off on being told what to do,” Party retaliates.

And yeah, okay. He really was.

“Use context clues then babe,” he snakes his palm down to grip Party, warm and full, in his hand, “and don’t stop unless I’m blacking out.” Whether it’s from those words or the thumb working at the length of him or an unholy combination of both, Party makes that same animal sound from before and throws himself down to capture Ghoul’s mouth. It’s so rough he can feel it in his tonsils. His tongue is everywhere. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to jerk off again without thinking about how Party tastes when he’s mean and molding them together like he can force their bodies to become one if he just tries hard enough (he’s like that, though...can make things happen by sheer force of will. Usually it scares Ghoul to death but now it’s making him feel like a horny kid all over again, a teen-hood he can’t even remember).

There’s the sound of a zipper and he’s realizing that they’ve both been fully clothed this whole time, which seems like a travesty. They should definitely be naked. He should be able to see what Party looks like when he’s not toting a gun and mask but rather what he looks like with a fine sheen of sweat lighting up his body as he thrusts back into him with that same determination he sets to his brow when he’s working on a way to save them all from certain doom. He wants to be saved, just like how Party always saves him. Lord help him, he wants to be kept.

There’s this sound that pierces the room before Ghoul realizes he’s the one that’s made it, something high pitched and almost dainty, like he wasn’t just demanding that the man above him knock his lights out. It makes Party laugh.

“You’re needy.” He shoves Ghoul’s shirt up until it’s rucked beneath his armpits and makes no move to get it off any further than that. Dives in with his teeth and starts making marks anywhere he can until he gets the desired effect, goosebumps raised all across tan skin.

“Mmmmm, need _you_ ,” is all he can muster when there’s teeth toying with his nipple and a hand wrapped around his cock, teasing.

“Tell me all about. Wanna hear it, every word.” Holy shit. He squirms again, almost feeling bad about it even though no one told him he couldn’t, just wants to be good. Wants to make this good so it doesn’t end up being a memory he replays til they find him in the sand as nothing more than sun bleached bones. If he can make this good for Party then it doesn’t have to just be tonight.

“Where do I start?” He puts a hand in the other man’s hand, red dripping over his fingers. “It’s so embarrassing, all the shit I think about. God, the back seat of the car...” hearing him makes Party bite particularly hard, fingers tightening in his hair in response. It’s enough to push tears to Ghoul’s eyes with how it stings but not enough to make him want less. “Gets so lonely out here, even when you’ve got a family. You take such good care of us though, you keep up safe. Keep me safe. Oh oh oh oh shit, Party—fuck, goddammmmmnnnm yeah, that’s why I want you to hurt me, do you get that? So fucking good at keeping me in line and keeping me from blowing my own head off, just wanna see what it feel like when you fuck me and make me feel like it’s all I’m good for.”

And ding-ding-ding, that seems to do the trick. Ghoul’s prize comes in the form of roughly being taken down to the floor in a matter of seconds (so fast he almost gets whiplash, has no idea how they managed it), and they’re back almost exactly where they started; Party at his back, Ghoul on his front, but this time there’s a hand pushing his head down to the floor with his right cheek smooshed on the tile. The angle sucks. It aches so bad he could start sobbing. His dick throbs pathetically.

“Oww, fuck, Party—“ he starts, only to feel that same hand press impossibly harder until his neck burns with it.

“Quiet,” Party spits. It works. Ghoul snaps his mouth shut and whimpers.

“You stay like that. I’ll give you everything you want if you stay just like that for me and keep your mouth shut until I give you direction to open it.”

Ghoul can’t think of a universe where he would say no to that.

Not wanting to break the rules, he simply nods (or attempts it anyway, not easy to do when you’re being held down forcibly by the skull) and waits. Hopes it’s what Party was looking for, a sign of his ability to be docile and obedient.

There’s a soft voice saying “good boy” above him and a looser grip keeping him pinned now. He’d been in enough pain not to notice how they’re lined up, but there’s enough awareness swimming around in his brain that he can feel where Party is pressed up against his ass, unconsciously rocking himself there while staying focused on who’s beneath him. It’s ridiculously hot. He’s itching with need. Just wants to feel Party come apart on top of him, because of him, like a gift from God. He’s hyperaware now of how much he wants it, keeps it at the forefront of his mind—a goal, something to achieve.

“Can’t believe I get to have you like this. Gorgeous thing, look so good...would never have guessed you could be this quiet, the way you mouth off to me like it’s your damn job.” Party reaches for his own zipper and shimmies out of his pants in a matter of seconds, navigating around Ghoul’s body enough to get them off and perch himself right back on his ass like a throne. “Couple’a times you got me so worked up and pissed off, only thing I could think about was putting you on your knees and making you gag on me just to shut you up.” Ghoul makes a face Party can’t see against the floor and tries to keep himself from making too much noise. Can’t even begin to describe how fast he’s tucking _that_ bit of information away for future use. The image in his head sends him reeling—kneeling in the sand, sun beating down on the both of them, a hand in his hair keeping him at the perfect angle, not caring much about whether it comfortable or not, just working faster and faster until his jaw aches with the stretch—

“You like that, huh?” There’s the hint of teasing when he says it as Party rolls with a sinuous grace against where he has Ghoul’s lower half pinned. “I think you like mouthing off to me. I think you want that just as bad as I do. Tell me, sweetheart.”

For a minute he almost thinks he’s forgotten how to use his voice, but then there’s a meek “Yeah, I do want that, please, want you” that tumbles out of him and falls on the tile by his mouth. It earns him another press of sharp hips and an easy moan. It’s the best possible reward; every time he does it, Ghoul feels just how fucking hard he is, gets the sweet satisfaction of knowing he did that, he made that happen. It’s been years since he’s had anything remotely close to this level of intimacy and he’s on sensation overload. There’s a small, stupid part of him that thinks _fuck, can anyone hear us?_ but the more involved part of him (the one that can barely control how much blood travels south of his brain) couldn't even begin to care.

“Gotta show me then, how good you’d do it for me.” And Ghoul has no idea how that’s going to work from this position, this intense angle that has his neck screaming at him, but then there are fingers at the edge of his lips, thumb index middle, pushing until they meet his tongue and go further back. He’s playing catch up but it doesn’t take long before he’s fully on board, doing his best to bob his head and create the same delicious suction he’d use if these weren’t just fingers, if he could have the real thing hot and heavy in him. With some concentration, he’s able to wrap his tongue around them and flick in-between like the show-off he is. Wants to give it his best, make Party get a _real_ good show. Just wants to be the best for him all around.

“Oh holy shit baby,” Party gasps from behind him, working himself even harder against Ghoul’s ass, like he could fuck him through the single layer of clothing left between them. “Yeah, just like that. Take ‘em deeper, I know you can.” Of course, he doesn’t really give Ghoul the time to do it on his own, just pushes his own hand in deeper until there are more tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. It’s good that way though. He likes that Party trusts him to do it, to be okay with it, which makes him work his own throat even harder around where he’s starting to choke. There’s spit everywhere—his chin, the corners of his mouth, Party’s hand, the floor next to his head—but it’s making Ghoul wild. It feels like fucking. Feels like sex. His belly is warm with the feeling of want and lust. It doesn’t matter that he’s definitely going to wake up feeling like he got hit by a Drac ‘cycle, the fact that he’s got a body on top of his and a quickly approaching release is all that matters in the world.

In all his enthusiasm, he finds himself gagging _hard_ —he rears his head back, coughing loud and wet away from Party’s glistening fingers that hang awkwardly in the air.

“Shh, it’s alright,” dry fingers make a mess in his hair, pulling it away from his forehead, “take a second. You’re doing so good for me. Get your breath back.” The unspoken ‘then get back to it’ in his voice keeps Ghoul determined to recover quicker than he would if either of them had come yet. Shit, he wants to come. Wants to feel thoroughly fucked out when Party comes, hopefully all across his back if he works hard enough.

“Good?” Party asks. Looks only for an easy reply.

Ghoul nods. “Mmhmm. ‘M good. More?” His voice sounds so wrecked, but he’s not even close to embarrassed by it—in fact, he’s gearing up for a sore throat in the morning that reminds him of just what happened here every time he takes a fucking sip of water.

It’s the right answer. “Of course.” And just as though they never stopped, Ghoul has something to focus on again. Any fears of Party trying to be more gentle with him now that he’d taken a break are quelled once he starts using the sum of his index, middle, and ring finger like his actual cock and fucks Ghoul’s mouth deep and smooth. He doubles it with how hard he’s going at it against Ghoul’s ass, pulling the man’s briefs down and out of the way enough to make the pressure even better for himself, single-minded focus on his own pleasure. “Can’t wait ‘til I can get inside you. You’re already a mess, what are you gonna do when I’m fucking you so hard all of Zone 6 can hear?”

Ghoul moans loud at that, feeling himself short circuit. Wants to beg for it right-fucking-now, be a brat about the whole thing—he’s been fantasizing about his superior for over a year now, nastiest shit possible fueling his thoughts when he has even two seconds to himself, getting ridiculously hard at inappropriate times like when Party’s in his face and telling him off for being a reckless idiot once again—so yeah, he’s positive that he could take a good, hard fucking right now no matter how many people can hear him. He also knows there are rules that have been set for him, expectations he needs to meet if he’s going to get something out of this other than bruises and jerk off material that will last him the rest of his dismal little life.

“Shit. Do that with your tongue again.” Ghoul complies, curious about the way Party’s voice breaks a bit and his hips stutter. God, he doesn’t even know how he’s going to act once he really gets a cock in his mouth if he’s getting this high from just a few fingers and someone praising him. There’s a deep, shocked sound from behind him—apparently that tongue thing is just _that_ good—and Party is slamming his hips harder and harder. “Christ. Ghoul, what the hell. How the fuck are you so good at that.”

He has a reply for that, some smartass comment that he knows would earn him an eye roll, but Party decides to pick up the pace, completely abandoning Ghoul’s mouth in favor of using both hands to hold his hips still while he rides the soft flesh underneath him. Words leave him entirely.

There’s nothing to hold onto, which is both beneficial and fucking terrible because he’s getting some friction from the way his pants are bunched at his crotch while he’s being pushed into the floor, but he has no control over how much and how hard he’s getting it, which makes him whine because he’s on the very brink of coming and there’s nothing he can do without getting himself in trouble or ruining his own experience. It’s self-inflicted torture.

He’s on cloud nine.

“You take it so damn good, you know that? Like you were built for it.” The endorphins in his blood are going a mile a minute, and hearing that makes Ghoul want to sob. “‘Should have you like this all the time, ready and willing for me. Practically on your hands and knees for it.”

He’s so insanely lucky, he can’t even begin to explain it. Must have picked a heads-up penny somewhere and the universe is cashing it in now for him. With what little room he has to do it, Ghoul wriggles himself so that he’s working in time with Party’s thrusts, practically fucking himself back onto his cock. It takes all the energy he has left to do it but he knows it’s worth it because Party is (oh fuck) _growling_ now, head bowed with his forehead to the middle of Ghoul’s shoulders. Sweat everywhere. He never realized it before but there’s the distinct sound of someone’s punched-out breaths, coming out in short little high pitched “uh”s, all of his own making. Everything about it is just this side of pornographic, but what about the entire evening hasn’t been?

“Fucking—shit, baby, fuck, gonna come. All over you, Jesus, you earned it, so good like this, how are you even real—“ Party’s babbling, bordering on nonsense at some points, but Ghoul’s zeroed in on “gonna come.” Fuck, he can’t remember being this excited about anything that wasn’t a literal explosive. Doesn’t really need to think about his own dick, not how bad he’s aching or how he’s definitely ruined these pants to the point of no return (he’d never inflict come stains this bad on Jet or Kobra’s poor eyes), just needs the instant satisfaction of another person getting him so goddamn messy. He’s not careful and he knows this; the second he gets what he wants, he’ll have a moment of clarity that reminds him how detrimental this is, reminds him of the the fact that he’s been in love with Party for nearly as long as he’s known him, and no amount of soap will wash that off under the shitty fluorescence of the bathroom.

“Fuck fuck fuck, oh fuck, I’m—“ Party may be the one coming all across his back and ass but Ghoul’s the one moaning, face pressed hard against the floor in a small puddle of his own spit. Feels like the sun, warm and everywhere all at once. Overwhelming and all-consuming. He’s crying just a bit, mostly from the pressure of having someone keep you forced down against a solid surface, but probably from how nice it is to feel the proof that you were wanted.

Awareness slips in and out for a minute while Party is catching his breath and moving to flip Ghoul over, get his mouth on his neck and travel up to his ear, his temple, then his mouth. It’s so much gentler than anything they’ve done tonight, more tears rush down his cheeks, not enough to be alarming or make anyone stop. Party kisses him for longer than he ever expected. There’s a thumb gathering a fat, fresh tear and wiping it away from his face while someone licks his mouth like a healing wound (the way it got fucked tonight, it might as well be—a gaping wound in need of care).

“I’ve got you,” Party whispers, seals the promise with a kiss to his chin, and pushes his hand down his pants right to where he’s hottest. Without warning, Ghoul’s hissing from the pure relief of it, making those dumb little noises again when Party grips him, fingers still wet from earlier combined with how wet he’d gotten himself there on the floor, wrist working him fast and relentless.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna come so fast Party, no idea how I didn’t blow it while you were fucking my mouth like that before.” He’s pretty sure he said all those words in the right order but his brain is close to leaking out of his ears so he’s actually not positive he said anything at all. He knows he’s still crying out for it, for whatever Party will give him, can hear the encouragement above him (“Beautiful, so good, for me honey, just for me okay, no one else, it’s just us, good boy”) and the world is just a pin-point. There’s a white light that hurts his eyes, can’t keep them open, just goes slack-jawed and loud when he hears someone say “do it, come all over my fist baby” and then everything ends like a movie. All black.

Consciousness comes back, curtains rolling away to reveal a dark room and a body on top of Ghoul’s own. Lips at his shoulder. A hand holding his own. Stupidly, he thinks about saying “I love you” out loud. Thinks about it like the death wish it is. His tongue feels far too heavy in his head to do anything of the sort, lucking out this one and only time.

“Got any cigarettes?” Party punctuates the question with a kiss at his collarbone. Ghoul’s neck really fucking hurts, but he’s with it enough to roll his head to the side, gesturing to where his jacket hangs loosely off a chair just a few feet away. He’s only alone for a moment while Party gets up and fishes through pockets—“Awesome”—and comes back, lights up there against Ghoul’s chest. Shares the cigarette with him once he’s had the first drag. Not that Ghoul can do much but accept, limbs too loose and uncooperative to take it with his own fingers, so Party holds it for him, let’s him get his fill. Almost romantic.

“So...” Party drawls, forearms crossed at the top of Ghoul’s chest, head resting atop them.

“So...” Ghoul repeats.

“You’re kind of a slut, huh?”

Ghoul laughs around the smoke in his mouth. Blows it in Party’s face, for kicks. “Holy shit, you’re kind of an asshole.” It makes Party grin big and mischievous. It’s the kind of look Ghoul’d expect from himself, really.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing. Obviously I benefitted from it. A lot.” He careful not to get ash on anyone’s skin.

“Yeah, you sure as shit did. You gonna keep up on that promise to fuck me, then?”

Party looks up, pretends to think about while he pulls from the cigarette. Fakes a thoughtful look. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean, I kind of did already.”

Ghoul groans. “Yeah, I’m aware. Need to get up soon before I get stuck to the floor.” Neither of them make a move to get up, though. They share smoke and a comfortable silence, Party tracing his eyes and fingers over the tattoos he’s never seen up close before, keeping a tally of bruises he made with his hands and mouth (and ones that were just there, born from a life where you fight to keep your life in a daily basis). There’s a lot they could be saying. Actually, there’s about a thousand and one things they need to talk about now, and really, Ghoul’s still not sure how he went from being preyed upon in the night by someone with a little too much wild in their blood to having a tender post-fuck smoke on the floor on his bedroom. Part of him’s teetering on the edge of a question, but he knows it’ll break the delicate peace they’re making here.

Party draws a circle on Ghoul’s wrist. “You should get some rest.” He’s quieter now, bordering on reserved. So apparently they aren’t talking about this.

Ghoul hums in response. Makes a move to get up by propping his elbow underneath himself, but is stopped when he feels a hand at the center of his chest. Two eyes looking at him in the dark, searching for something. He has no idea what they’re looking for, but he’s praying that it gets found.

Something clicks and they’re kissing again. Easy, soft, but meaningful kissing. Party’s hand moves from his chest to his hair, easing a tender spot where he’d pulled before. Like he’s healing it. Ghoul melts into it, truly a sucker for kissing like this, sucks on the other man’s tongue just a little bit because he feels like he can and because he’s still riding the high of good sex and that nicotine buzz. It makes Party smile where their mouths meet, and god it’s so nice like that.

When they finally part, it feels like something’s been said. There’s a conversation hanging in the air, or they made one up, because there were two mouths moving and what is talking if not just...that? It feels like a good enough excuse to indulge in another cheap kiss.

“If I don’t get up and get your jizz off my back, I’m going to have a lot of questions to answer tomorrow when Jet and Kobra find me in here.”

Party buries a laugh at the crook of Ghoul’s arm where his shoulder and armpit meet. “Yeah, that’d be for the best. Wouldn’t wanna ruin the camaraderie around here.”

“What would you call this then?” It’s the closest Ghoul plans on getting to toeing the line because he’s still a little shit at the end of the day, feelings-and-fucking aside. He can’t not cause trouble, even if it’s for himself.

He gets an eye roll and another chaste kiss, just because. “ _Really_ good camaraderie.”

Ghoul’ll take that. For now, at least.

“Goodnight,” Party whispers it soft as a secret into Ghoul’s hair, gathers his discarded pants up into a bunch and winks over his shoulder before leaving him alone again, just how he started his night.

Maybe they’ll talk about it tomorrow.

Ghoul finishes their shared cigarette, snubs it out on the leg of the chair by his head.

He needs a long fuckin’ bath.


End file.
